What the Dwarf Didn't Know
by momonigiri
Summary: "This is not what I had planned." Just little snippets written in Justice's voice about Hawke...incidents that even Varric didn't know. (This is a direct addition to one of my main fics, "On Fire" that contains spoilers. Can also be read as a stand alone) Please R&R!
1. Incite

_**This is my first attempt at a 1st person POV story...whoo! This chapter is directly associated with my multi-chapter fic, "On Fire", so if you are reading it and do not want spoilers, please turn away now! I will rewrite these scenes in that story as well, but it will be told from a different point of view. So, because this is written as an off-shoot of another story, some things have been changed or modified to fit those events.**_

_**Note: Unless otherwise stated, the "him" referred to by Justice= Anders; the "she/her"=Hawke**_

* * *

I take over the body we occupy, and I fill my lungs with the air of the Fade. It is crisper than I remember, not like the stale air of the mortal world.

I feel obligated to say something to counteract the void of silence surrounding my companions. I finally open my mouth, and relay to them my feelings about the atmosphere.

Oh, to hear the sound of my own voice again, echoing with clear autonomy! It is invigorating!

A woman stands next to me- - - I know of her through her relationship with him. I then realize that seeing her friend in such a state must unsettle her. I need to say something to ease her tension. Perhaps a formal introduction will alleviate her nervousness.

"I am Justice," I say. "Anders has told you of me."

I am surprised when she nods her head in recognition. She proceeds to thank me for helping her against the Templars when she and Anders were attempting to rescue Karl. She is unusually quiet, and I can only imagine how much this appearance frightens her. I look down only to see deep, brown eyes staring up at me. Her eyes are large, and I am reminded of a little fawn I had the pleasure of meeting some years ago.

I stop. Something is different about her.

Her archery attire of leggings and a fitted tunic is replaced by a long, flowing, white dress. And her hair, that mixture of golds, browns, and reds that had been cropped below her ears due to an unfortunate accident, now cascades down the middle of her back. She is how she wishes herself to be.

The sight of her is reminiscent of a spirit of Goodness or Devotion; I am intrigued by how well her incorporeal form fits into this world.

I inform her that a mortal's physical self is apt to change according to the deepest wishes in a person's heart. I see her looking down, and her hand cups her cheek in embarrassment. My previous comment does not quell her nervous fidgeting, and she continues tugging at the soft, white fabric of her apparel. My mouth vocalizes an internal memory before I have a chance to stop it.

"A world so full of beauty that beauty goes unseen...you are indeed such a thing."

A warm pink rises to tint her cheeks- - - she notices my ill-timed, lingering gaze. But, she seems pleased at the sentiment, and I find my lips curling upward to mimic her expression.

I believe this is what Anders calls a "smile".

* * *

She seems to trust me, this woman; though she does not have much first-hand knowledge of me. When we encounter a demon of Sloth, she is quick to look my way for my input in the matter. I see her eyelids flutter, and I tell her that this being wants nothing more than for her to forget her purpose and her pride in life. I tell her not to relax around this demon in a much louder voice; I see her snap out of her drowsiness as defiance replaces it in her expression. Sloth is vanquished without much of a fight. _Typical_.

I feel the boy's mind continuing to strain as she suggests we split up into teams, and she and the dwarf head off in the opposite direction. This only leaves me with the pirate whore. Although he certainly indulges this mortal's need for conversation, I am not honor-bound to do so. Her comments are lewd and dripping with crude lasciviousness as we walk forward; I ignore her, and enter the first door.

The pirate betrays us, selling out our leader for mere material possessions. It is to be expected. The race of humans typically falls prey to empty promises of wealth or power. Dwarves and elves are no different, but it is my experience that the race of men are even more prone to it. Still, I find the acrid taste of disappointment in my mouth, and I turn to face the demon as the pirate named Isabela disappears from the Fade. There is a persistent itch in the back of my mind that she, too, may have already been betrayed by her fellow companion. I now fight this wretched being with a newfound sense of urgency. I slay it in a matter of minutes, and I run to find her.

My premonition proves correct, and I no longer see the dwarf that accompanied us into the Fade. Such a pity, I think to myself as I approach another large door. He was her most trusted friend apart from Anders. The latch on the door unlocks easily, and I raise a hand to my eyes as I walk out into a bright, sunny area. I somehow suspected her temptation to be next, and I readied myself for what her ultimate weakness would be. It would not be Pride, that I knew for certain. She who was always willing to help others without recompense would not be something a demon of Pride would be drawn to. No, the demon most likely to vie for her soul would be a Desire demon. I prepare myself for the inevitable frustration brought about by her innate shortcomings.

She is standing in the middle of the green field, her dress billowing in the gentle breeze. Her hair fans softly behind her and frames her sun-kissed cheeks. Her face radiates an emotion I have not yet seen on her- - - she seems truly happy in this place. I take a moment to commit this event to memory before walking slowly in her direction. She feels my presence, and turns to face me completely, her eyes shining with joy. She gestures in front of her, and introduces me to her home, her family, and even her equine companion.

I take a step back, unsure of my interpretation of the situation. Here was a woman whose deepest desire was not gold, was not fortune, and was not power. Looking around, it is clear to me what she wants, and I am again, at a loss for words.

I am taken back to an interaction I had with Kristoff's wife several years prior on the subject of love, and I have had much time to think upon it since. My mind sparks with a moment of enlightenment- - - I know that the woman standing before me shares my own yearnings as well. The thing she wants most in this life is to be loved and loved fully. She is not unlike myself.

I wish I could let her dwell in this dream for eternity.

I step closer to her. I try to keep my voice quiet as I address her, for what I am telling her would be hard for anyone to hear. She protests that what we are seeing must be real, and I hear her voice beginning to crack. There is a pain that hits the very pit of my stomach as I try to tell her everything she is seeing is a lie.

Suddenly, an idea strikes me, and I ask her permission to prove that what I am saying is the truth. She consents, and I delve deep into my powers to conjure up a part of my abilities. I cover her eyes with my hand, and I whisper for her to not be alarmed.

She gasps softly as the scales of deception fall from her eyes. The demon is unhappy with the sudden turn of events. Her eyes are wild with terror as she watches the demon transform itself, growing so grotesque it would make even the bravest warrior want to retch. I tell her to face her fears, and I reiterate the fact that I am here with her. I see her fear dissolving, and we are able to overcome the demon with ease.

* * *

We find the boy at last, but she cannot kill him. Her eyes begin to shine with suppressed tears as she tries to keep her emotions in check. She sees herself in the boy: she sees herself as weak and groveling for attention and approval by those around her. But, she is not the boy. She is different.

She does not see her strength as I and Anders do. She does not see that she is courageous, loyal, and compassionate. She only focuses on her weaknesses. And as she takes the boy's hands in hers, she consoles him with a kindness that I find rare in humans. I begin to understand why my friend has turned his attention to her. She does not kill him, but gives him hope for a better future if she can find a way to prohibit demons from possessing mages. It is an unlikely ideal, but an ideal that brings the boy to a state of peacefulness as his body finally drifts away from the Fade.

She stares back at the empty space left by Feynriel's body briefly before straightening up once again. She seems lost, and I take this time to sink down into a chair to give her the room she needs to breathe. She does not move away from me, but instead, remains standing. Her eyes are dimmed with what looks like pain and sadness. Sympathy for her surges through my veins.

Her deep, brown eyes dart in my direction once more, and the mask she has worked so hard to perfect is back up, shielding herself from my gaze. I am unsure as to why our physical bodies have yet to waken in the mortal realm, but I do not dislike the extra time spent here.

I see her cracking her knuckles, an action I know through Anders' experiences which occurs when she is uneasy. I wait in silence until she speaks to me. She thanks me for my aide in dealing with her own demons, and I am grateful for her show of politeness and honesty. I tell her of my ability to pass on a bit of my essence onto her for a brief period during her time of need. By doing so, I explain, she was able to see the reality of the Fade, and the true forms of the demons who reside in it.

Her mouth turns up in one corner in what looks like the beginning of a mischievous grin.

"Oh," she tells me, "we have something like that in our world, too, as a way of showing thanks to someone who has helped them. Since you've been helping me a lot lately, perhaps I can share this custom with you?"

I feel myself slowly nodding, and her smile widens ever so slightly. "First, you must close your eyes," she says.

Curiosity gets the best of me and I obediently do what I am told. I wonder what odd, human custom this may be, and why I haven't heard of it beforehand. I wonder how such a custom could possibly be similar to what I had just done, and how- - -

I feel her warm lips meet my own, and my eyes shoot open in astonishment. The muscles of this body tense, and my fingers are as if frozen in place. I know not what to do as the feeling is strange; her full lips pressed together with mine must be an act of impulsivity.

Her hands are gently holding my face still. They are softer than I would have imagined considering she is a skilled archeress; but there are still small callouses to indicate her hard life.

I enjoy her touch.

She reads my body's reaction as a sign that she has made an egregious mistake, and begins to pull away from me. I close my eyes, and wrap my arms around her to deepen the sensation, fascinated by our actions. Like the pounding of a fist against a stone table, I feel the heart of this mortal form beating in its skeletal cage. The rigidness of her shoulders melts away as she relaxes beneath my hands. For the first time since entering the mortal world, I feel- - -_alive_. It is as if a flame is burning inside of me. I move my lips over hers, exploring every nook and crevice I find with delight.

Ah, my first kiss. I shall savor this moment in the depths of my being, writing her name on the closest thing that I have to a heart. Loretta Hawke...you are both what I have longed to experience, and also what I have dreaded to experience. My chest rises with a tenseness that has made me short of breath as I look upon you again.

I will never be able to unknow you now.

I have been in the mortal realm for years now, and there are days when I profess to know everything there is worth knowing about the world. Then there are rare days where I am astounded by the smallest gestures, and amazed by subtle beauties that mortals take for granted.

Today is a day of the latter.

No, I must not give in to these sensual pleasures, beckoning to me like a demon. I am only here to aide my friend, nothing more. I made a promise, and in that promise, I swore to him I would remain vigilant until every mage in Thedas is liberated. I find myself torn in a myriad of emotions that I have no right to feel. Nevertheless, I must remain on task. Even if his thoughts of her consume his mind every night as he lay in the clinic, at least I will remain unwavering.

I feel this form beginning to pull through the Veil of the Fade as he assumes control of his body. He is angry now, and I believe it right to offer some sort of apology to my friend. I have wronged him by my actions, and he is justified in his reaction towards me. But, the taste of her lips linger, and I am fully distracted.

This was not a part of the plan.


	2. No Regrets

**A/N: Hello again! So...this was supposed to be one-shot, but it was just too much fun to stop there! I always found it interesting that there was such a disconnect between Justice and Anders from the first game to the second, so I guess that is my inspiration for these chapters.**

**Again, the Hawke mentioned here is the character, Loretta, from "On Fire". I am unsure if I will rewrite this scene in my main fic, but I thought I'd add it here in any case. Thanks for reading and reviewing! :D**

* * *

Of course I am seen as an angry, all consuming entity akin to a demon. The outbursts are the only outwardly acknowledgement of my existence that the dwarf has seen. I do not blame him for writing what he knows. That is what all storytellers do on some level or other.

In my defense- - -am I not allowed to feel anger? Am I innately incapable of becoming overwhelmed, trapped, vulnerable, or suffocated?

I am a spirit, not the Maker. I am a far cry from infallible.

If mortals are allowed leeway to excuse their grievances, if self righteous beings of most species espouse the importance of forgiveness and understanding, then why don't these same beings extend a similar courtesy to me?

I may be but a forgotten child of the Maker, but I am still a part of his creation. I may be the embodiment of Justice, but is that all I am, and all I will ever be? It is like saying magic is the only aspect to a mage's identity. It is a notion widely believed and widely accepted, but nevertheless, abhorrently wrong.

"He is a force of Vengeance," he uses as an excuse when he turns a blind eye to his own actions. If I had my own body, I would have shook my head in disapproval and utter disbelief.

No, boy, you can not and will not use me as a scapegoat. I understand enough of this mortal realm to know that I, as well as all sentient beings, deserve respect. I may not agree with the actions of certain mortals, but unless I see an injustice done, I have little reason to withhold respect. It is as great of an injustice to judge others too harshly for existing as is the injustice of Templars who abuse mages simply because they fear the unknown.

* * *

I watched the dwarf keenly today, scribbling away in that book of his. It is no surprise he is documenting my error with the mage girl who had run away from the Circle. Mortals assume me for a demon just as surely as Templars assume all magic users are blood mages. I glanced over for a moment, the fresh inked words of "I will have every last Templar for these abuses!" shined brightly on the yellowed parchment. It is times like that when I wish for a different fate than my own. I made a mistake, but have not the autonomy to make my reflections known.

Is it the glowing eyes? The electric blue veins? The booming voice? Whatever the description may be of my character this time, the dwarf is not helping to dispel the fear and dread people assume I instill in others now. Maybe finding another corpse to inhabit would have been better.

No... It was not proper of me to have undergone it then, and it would be improper of me to do so now, even if it were possible. The dwarf continued to let his pen do the talking for him, and my worst fears are now put into print, immortalizing my demonized character.

As she so aptly puts it, such blatant ignorance "makes my blood boil". I am often amused at her interesting outlook on life. Boiling blood...what a morbid, yet fitting, description! After being with her, talking with her, and interacting with her, I can say with some degree of confidence that there are more layers to my existence than even I could fathom.

I consider her a friend now. Unfortunately, my duty to fulfill the promise I made to him still stands. I remain guarded as I do my best to fade into the background.

She sees through me, though, and beckons me forth at times. It takes all of my Maker given abilities to resist her callings. I still find myself failing at times- - -apologies are often quick to follow since he does indeed possess a jealous streak when it comes to her.

"But we are one," I echo as he grits his teeth in annoyance, "not even the greatest scholar can tell you where I end and you begin. That is what you told her, is it not?"

I seemed to have picked up the human vice of sarcasm since entering this realm. Maybe if I were a spirit of Willpower, I would have fared better.

But alas, I have not a single regret.

...｡. o.｡. o.｡. o.｡. o...

"He is no longer my friend Justice," he had said with a bitterness in his voice as if he had gargled salt water with a mouth full of ulcers. Whoever said that words have no hurting power was sorely mistaken. I never knew the pain of losing a friend until I had the honor of becoming one.

Perhaps it is in our best interest for me to show displeasure at their blossoming relationship. The term "obsession" comes to mind when I think of powerful words to get the message across. Yes, I will make my opinions known at the next possible chance.

* * *

She stirs beside me, and I carefully move away from her. Her eyes open, studying this face until she sighs softly. She believes him to still be in control of his body, I think. He is sleeping soundly, however, in the recesses of his mind. Spirits, after all, do not need such human necessities like sleep so I have a few hours of quiet for myself. She props herself up on one elbow, and stares unseeingly at the crackling fire in front of us.

I wonder what she is thinking? Is she, too, replaying my public rage from earlier? Her brown eyes look like melted chocolate as the fire dances over them. They waver back and forth as she examines the flame, and I feel disoriented as I gaze upon her unusually stoic expression. Perhaps she was revolted by my actions? Perhaps she wishes my demise? My curiosity is getting the best of me as I continue to watch her. Yes...I think I will venture to speak with her again. Nothing bad ever happened simply from having a conversation...right?

Too bad the dwarf isn't here to write down times like this in his book of memoirs.

"Did the incident with the mage girl alarm you today?"

"No," she says in a whisper I have to lean in closer to hear. "I know stuff like that gets under your skin."

A faint smile crosses my expression. "That sounds most uncomfortable...but accurate nonetheless."

She inches closer to this body, her hands reaching back behind his neck. She slowly tugs at the elastic tying his hair back, and I feel the light weight of his bangs brushing up against my face to hide his eyes from view.

No, this is not acceptable. I will not allow myself the pleasure of her intimacy. I need to be disapproving, not pining for more.

Does she know which one of us is speaking to her? I inquire without remembering to take a breath.

"Justice," she says, her eyes firm in their convictions. She swipes an errant lock of hair from my face, and I feel my resolve chipping away like a block of stone beneath the fingers of a master sculptor. "Next time you feel like that, just remember to take nice, deep breaths. It works for me."

She takes these hands in hers, and places them over her heart. She closes her eyes as she recites slowly. "In...out...in...out...like that..."

I feel the rhythmic beating of her heart beneath my fingertips, and every last shred of control takes flight from my consciousness. I bring my hand up to cup her cheek. She is still, and the air thickens with an electricity reminiscent of our time in the Fade.

It has been too long since I last experienced her kiss, and I hate to admit that I miss it deeply. It is I who moves toward her, and she willingly touches my lips with her own. Her eyes flutter closed, and I find myself raising up a hand to run my fingers through her hair. It feels as soft as silk, and I am rewarded by my actions by her touch becoming more fervent, more ardent in nature. In addition to sarcasm, it seems I have also picked up something useful from Anders in terms of what pleases her. I do not deny that this revelation delights me.

I have learned a new lesson here as well- - - talking _can_ lead to errors in judgement. Wonderfully pleasant errors, but errors no matter how you look at it.

I feel the life within her flowing through her veins. It provides a warmth to her skin that I find more intoxicating than the brews and wines in all of Thedas. Although the rational element of my consciousness is screaming for me to discontinue, we carry on this moment for some time, alternating between what I can only describe as sweet, sensual actions coupled with a whisper of carnal passions. She begins to kiss my neck, and I match her eagerness wholeheartedly. A growl bubbles forth from my chest, and an impish snicker fills my ears in reply as she continues wearing down my restraint with her indisputable talent.

I am grateful to be sitting on the solid, marble floor they covered in blankets, since I sincerely believe I would have fallen to my knees if I were actually standing. How can such contact make me feel so energized, yet so weak, at the same time? It is another conundrum I will certainly mull over when I recede back into the shadows of this body.

Although I am a spirit, I am not a _rude_ spirit- - -I reciprocate her affections with equal amounts of heat and softness. Back and forth we give and receive these actions, and as I look into her eyes, there is a joy and happiness there that I would do anything to see on a more regular basis.

I am again surprised at my own whimsical reactions and thoughts. Events such as these are what makes mortals so much different than the spirits I have mingled with in the Fade. The unique ability mortals possess to connect on such deep, emotional, and physical levels with others never ceases to amaze me. Am I capable of such a connection as well?

* * *

This will spur on yet another fight between us, for as soon as Anders awakens again, he will receive the phantom memories from our experiences. Yes, I need to tell him I do not agree with his "obsession" with her- - - because I have no control around her, either, and this is the second time our lips have touched. I have a sinking feeling he will not believe my argument.

I am beginning to yearn for this more than lyrium. It is not good to be so distracted from our goals.

He will wake up soon, and already I can hear the flood of choice words that are concise and cutting to my core. I have no excuse, no reason to give why we kissed. I only feel the guilt one would rightly endure when they know they have been caught "red handed" as the expression goes. I remain in quiet contemplation, unsettled by my own urges to spend more time with her. She rests her head on my shoulder, and I instinctively wrap an arm around her. She reacts simply by snuggling up to me, and we continue to watch the soothing fire once more in a comfortable silence.

* * *

I do not deserve the title "Justice"- - -how can it be a justice to him for me to repeat the same activities that hurt him? I have not lived up to my namesake, and I am fully aware of this. She is my counterpoise, and I am at odds with how to deal with these feelings that threaten to grow ever stronger.

"Justice is righteous. Justice is hard."

But, I am not infallible.

I regret nothing.


End file.
